all work and no play
by yokono
Summary: sebastian smythe works for a crisis management firm, and he'll stop at almost nothing to protect his clients.
1. Chapter 1

It was a funny story, really. How it all started, and how the hell he found himself here. In plain text, he did it to himself. Speaking metaphorically, of course. He was handed, literally fucking handed the greatest thing that had ever happened to him in a file, and he threw it right in the garbage.

Currently, it was December 2014, and soon, he'd be hitting the thirty year mark. The big three-zero, also known as, you're-getting-fucking-old. That's how he saw it. Too old to be running around with whoever he could get to sleep with him. Different name and face each night. They were all the same, though, each and every one of them. There was nothing unique that set them apart. It was rare to find, but he had found it once. He had an ultimatum, though. His career or the man he loved.

* * *

><p><strong>TWO YEARS AGO<strong>

The business, as usual, was ever-changing and each moment was riveting. His aim wasn't crisis-management, and it had never been, but that is where he currently found himself. Twenty-seven years old, and he couldn't believe where his life had taken him. Sebastian focused on criminal law while in college, hoping to become New York's best criminal defense attorney after graduating from law school. It didn't work out the way he had planned, unfortunately. More than a year had gone by after he graduated, and he hadn't been offered a place in any one of the firms he tried to get into, so he returned to the only woman who saw his true potential.

The beginning of his existence in the firm had started six years ago. Smythe needed an internship and Lopez & Associates had an opening. A five-person firm at the time, now six. They had a wide range of clients; celebrities, politicians, criminals, and whoever else you could snatch right off 7th Avenue. To say the least, never was there a dull moment in the office.

"Gather 'round," Santana pushed through the doors of their office.

A typical day involved each member of the team pursuing a different case, but there were times that called for each of them to be involved. It wasn't what he'd call ideal, because the primary learning objective meetings were always estrogen-filled and it was suffocating. He'd much rather be out in the streets, collecting intelligence for another bullshit case that would take a damn chimp a few minutes to figure out.

"Okay," she took a deep breath, setting her coffee down on the table before taking her usual stance in front of the small crowd. "Our new client: Hunter Clarington. According to fashion blogs and a few idiotic magazines for teenagers, he's a heartthrob. He's our senator's son, which is how he must have gotten any recognition at all. Claims that he assaulted a few girls, deals drugs, and uses them are being made. Thanks to Twitter, a good amount know of this already."

"He's a student at Columbia," Santana added, looking in Sebastian's direction. "I assume you can pull a few strings there, and Wilde will assist you. Talk to this kid, get close to him, figure out what's true and what isn't."

"Anything else?" Tracking down an idiotic teenager and questioning him wouldn't take long, so he hoped she had something else for them to handle.

Santana dropped a file, containing an article and the writer's information, down in front of him. "This writer," she began. "He's the first to catch wind of this story, and I received his unedited version of what he's planning on publishing in a day or two this morning. Stop him. I don't care what you have to do, or if we have to pay him off with an even bigger story. Right now, we don't need this article persuading our jury to make a decision if this goes to court."

Fair enough, Sebastian decided. He fingered through the file briefly: Blaine Anderson, twenty-three years old, and a graduate of NYU. Grew up in Ohio, but he currently lived here, in the Chelsea neighborhood, working for Splash News. As far as he knew, Splash News wasn't exactly the big league. A dying news reporting company, but being the first to release a scandalous report about an unruly wealthy teenager who sexually assaulted more than a few girls in the city would definitely gain them some sort of attention.

Santana continued to hand out assignments. Artie, the team's computing savant, would be tracking down the girls, Hunter, and his friends down through their digital footprint and surveillance cameras. Quinn would assume her usual role, following the people who were threatening the client's image. And Tina would handle keeping evidence in order, as well as keeping the client updated on the status of the investigation. He was paired with Kitty for the day, it seemed.

It wasn't a bad deal for him. The woman was his female counterpart, and they got along swimmingly. "I have an idea," the blonde said to him as they piled into the elevator. "So we can finish early today, I'll go make a deal with the wannabe journalist, and you handle the client. I have a date tonight, and I was really hoping I'd make it home before five tonight."

"No," he shrugged, pressing the button that would take them to the lobby of the building. "You're the sex appeal I need to get Claritin to open up. I'll handle the article business myself."

"Clarington, genius. He's not a fucking allergy pill."

"I don't pay much attention when people speak, if you haven't noticed."

"I have, but you have a deal."

* * *

><p>Santana could supply Sebastian with the guy's damn social security number, but not his address. If he hadn't been tracking the posts on Blaine's Facebook account, however, he wouldn't have been able to find him. After a "long, tough day at work," Anderson was "heading to Bar Nine for happy hour." Sebastian never understood why social media interested people as much as it did. He never enjoyed the idea of other people having access to photos of him, nor did he ever have the urge to update almost everyone he has ever come across in his life how he's spending his night. And in his opinion, his life was much more intriguing than most. It made his life a lot easier, though. When he needed to track down an idiot.<p>

Bar Nine wasn't far, at least. It was a few streets over from the office, thankfully. "I'll take a dirty martini," Sebastian informed the bartender, taking a seat next to Blaine. The man he was sitting next to was far more attractive than he had appeared in photographs, but he wasn't going to let the twitch he felt in his cock get in the way of this meeting. "Order whatever you want on me," he patted Blaine on his shoulder, and he flashed him a worried look. Which was understandable. "I'm Sebastian."

"I'm sure you're really nice, but I'm not interested. I'm taken."

"I know," he said matter-of-factly. "Blaine Devon Anderson, and you're involved with—Sorry, I'm terrible with names sometimes. Kyle, right? No, Kurt. You're twenty-three years old and you're a recent graduate of NYU." Blaine kept his eyes on Sebastian, not making any move to add to the conversation. "I'm here on business, so let's wrap this up, alright? I work for Santana Lopez, and Hunter Clarington is our client."

"I get it now," Blaine shook his head, chuckling quietly. "I'm not pulling the article."

"I figured you'd say that." The grin on Sebastian's face couldn't have grown any wider. "The second you try to publish anything involving my boss and our client, everyone is going to snatch the story straight from your hands. You won't be known for it. You will not gain one cent from it. However, I can offer an alternative. We have a long list, a very long list, of clients who have incredible stories that have yet to be told. I can guarantee that one of them would speak to you, and only you. That way, you'll have the top story next to your byline."

"Would that mean I'd have to see you again?"

"That's what you're hoping, isn't it?" He teased, his lips curling into a sleazy grin. "I can and will have the information mailed to your office or home for you. But, if you're interested, we could arrange something at my place."

"That isn't very professional, now is it, Mister...?"

"Smythe. And no, it isn't," Sebastian shrugged his shoulders. "I never said I was a professional. I'd like an answer by midnight, though," he reached into his wallet, extracting a business card and fifty dollar bill. "This should cover the tab, and here's my number." He pushed himself off of the barstool and leaned over, bringing his lips to the shell of Blaine's ear. "You probably shouldn't come to a bar alone looking like this if you aren't interested in men throwing themselves at you. What would Kirk say?"

Work here was done, he deemed.


	2. Chapter 2

A few months had gone by since Sebastian had last heard from Blaine Anderson. He wasn't on his mind often, but he found himself searching for his byline if he had the time to check the local news. The writer had landed a much bigger job after his story, one supplied by Sebastian and his team, gained him some sort of fame. The_ New York Post_. He'd released some article about the murder of an actor's wife, which surprisingly, the world knew almost nothing about. And soon, every damn news reporting company was chasing this story and the man who wrote it.

It'd been surprising, to say the least, when he saw Blaine knocking frantically on the door to their office. Sebastian found himself there well into the early hours some mornings, and he must have known he'd be there. "It's two o'clock in the morning, Anderson," he'd muttered irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What the fuck do you need?" And the shorter man pushed right past him, he knew where he was going, and took a seat in Sebastian's office. He was talking quietly to himself, causing him to hesitate entering the room with him. "Are you going to tell me, or not?"

"I dug too deep."

"What are you talking about?"

"I looked too far into something," he took a seat on the leather couch that sat in the corner of his room. "I was researching, and it lead me to all this crazy information about some ex-CIA agents who used to torture people for intelligence reasons. I know it sounds crazy, but they're watching me now. I started calling around, asking about the agents, and when I got too close, they shut me down. Stop returning my calls and emails, and someone's following me. I don't even know what's going on. I don't know what to do."

"Who's following you, exactly?"

"I don't know, Sebastian," he pulled his knees up to his chest, breathing heavily. "I thought you could help."

"I can." Sebastian spoke quietly, moving across the room to place himself next to Blaine. "I just need you to relax, alright? You're not going back to your apartment if they're following you." He absentmindedly placed a hand on Blaine's knee, his thumb gliding back and forth soothingly. "You can stay with one of us. One of the girls, so you're comfortable."

"I don't know them, though."

He immediately answered "no," and ran a hand through his hair worriedly. "You don't know me, either, Blaine."

While that had been somewhat true, Blaine didn't care. He knew Sebastian more than he knew the rest of them, and he wouldn't be comfortable sitting in a complete stranger's home for God knows how long. Woman or man, it didn't matter to him. "If you want me to be comfortable, you'd do that for me."

* * *

><p>So here he fucking was, pulling sheets and blankets out to make up the couch for Blaine. "This place is beautiful," he commented, Sebastian eyeing him as his fingers traced along the top of the marble fireplace and across a couple of the books he'd kept up there for decoration. "I bet everyone tells you that, though."<p>

"I don't bring people here, actually. I keep to myself if I'm not working," he shrugged his shoulders. "But thank you."

"You don't invite your girlfriend, or boyfriend, over?"

"I'm gay, if that's what you're trying to figure out, and no, I don't have one."

And he must have been right, because the shorter man remained quiet after he answered him. The grin on his face seemed smug, but Sebastian decided not to comment nor continue to discuss his personal life. This would be over soon, he told himself. As soon as they discovered who was tracking Blaine down, they'd put an end to it and he wouldn't have to sacrifice his personal time. Maybe it was selfish, but he couldn't care less.

"If you want, I can take the couch?" He wasn't going to offer, but he knew it'd be rude not to. "You'll be more comfortable in a bed, and the TV is in there."

Blaine bit into his lip and shrugged his shoulders, leaving the decision up to Sebastian, it seemed. "You can join me in bed if you want, darling," he snorted, dropping a few pillows down on the couch for him. While he was only kidding, he wouldn't have minded if he took him up on the offer. But that seemed unlikely, because the look on Blaine's face wasn't one of amusement. Sebastian's was, at least. "Alright," he said softly. "I will be taking the couch, then."

It was a tad ridiculous, if you asked Sebastian. He felt like his father had been just before the divorce, taking the spare bed just to ignore an awkward situation. "There's a bathroom connected to the room, and the towels are in the closet. If you need something to wear, just go through my bureau. I don't care." He did care, but he wasn't going to vocalize it, especially knowing Blaine probably felt uncomfortable already. The man was forced out of his own apartment, and into his.

"I can go home tomorrow and grab some things," he added.

"No." Sebastian planned what was going to happen; Quinn and Santana would go to his home, gather up most of his belongings, and he'd pick it up from Santana's. "You aren't leaving. At all," he explained. "It's on me if something happens to you, and I'm not letting anything happen. I'll pick you up a new phone tomorrow, so you can contact Kirk, or whatever his name is, and your family. No one else, though." It might seem harsh, but that's what needed to be done. If Blaine had been telling him the truth, and if the CIA was after him, they'd need to guarantee he wasn't leaving a digital footprint anymore. That's why Sebastian got rid of his phone in a taxi, hoping some other idiot would pick it up and decide to use it.

"You don't have to do that for me. You already gave me a phone," Blaine said, frowning up at him. "So all I can do is sit here? Are you going to be here, or am I just going to be alone all day?" Sebastian didn't have an answer for him, because it all depended on what they were doing at work, and if his part could be done from home.

"It's for clients in case we need to contact them. Santana reads the messages." The phone was more for Sebastian's benefit, in case he needed to speak to the other man throughout the work day. He didn't need the rest of his team reading the conversations between the two of them. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "If I have to work on your case, and it's something I can't do from here, then yeah, you'll be alone. Sleep, watch TV, or whatever. I'll get you some books."

"I don't see the problem," he looked at him, his brow furrowed. "Alright, I get it. It's for my safety. You don't have to tell me again." Yeah, the situation wasn't fucking ideal, but what did he expect? If he wanted their damn help, he needed to accept it rather than fight it. Sebastian wouldn't keep it up much longer if he felt he was wasting his time on a lost cause.

"It's almost four in the morning." Sebastian said, beginning to undo his necktie and dress shirt. "You need to sleep, and so do I. We'll talk tomorrow." He opened a drawer and grabbed what he needed to sleep in quickly and left the room to the other man. "Goodnight." Sleeping on a couch wasn't as comfortable as it had been in college after a night of drinking, but he'd deal with it for the next week or so.

* * *

><p>The past eight hours had been a damn blur in Sebastian's mind, because he'd been running on an hour or two of sleep. He wasn't so sure what they'd come to know, and what they thought was the case here. Blaine said he had spent the last month digging into the pasts of one Noah Puckerman and Dave Karofsky, two agents that had been terminated from the CIA. It didn't make sense in Sebastian's mind, though. He had the list of everyone who he contacted, and none of them were connected to the CIA, only to the former black ops agents. If he hadn't noticed the Audi that had been following Blaine and him in a cab the night before, and also sitting across the street from his apartment building this morning, he wouldn't have been convinced someone was on his trail. Someone wanted him, though. He just wasn't sure who.<p>

"I hacked into the server," Artie announced. His associate never talked much to the team, which struck Sebastian as odd, but the man worked well. "They haven't done any digging into Anderson's file within the last seventy-two hours."

"That's good, right?"

"Yes and no." He knew what he meant; Blaine might not have been on their radar at all, or they could have gathered whatever information they needed beforehand.

"What could they even have on him, you know? He's clean, as far as we know. They might not have had to do any research."

He nodded, looking up at Sebastian. To say the least, it was frustrating. Between the two of them, all they could muster up were files on a few idiots who Blaine had pressed charges against in high school due to them assaulting him. And he knew damn well they didn't have the intelligence between to three of them to carry out any sort of plan to get revenge, plus if they wanted to do anything, they would have done so years ago. "I need to get home," Sebastian said finally.

"Keep your dick in your pants," he heard Wilde say from across the room. Sebastian muttered a quick "fuck you" under his breath, then gathered the shitload of paperwork he planned on going through later and shoved it in a file before leaving.

* * *

><p>He didn't go straight home; he needed to pick Blaine up a phone that people wouldn't be tracking, and he needed to get everything that belonged to Blaine from Santana's. She demanded that the laptop and tablet stay with her, and he agreed. Blaine didn't, however, but the two of them were doing what felt right. And Sebastian was already bending the rules by providing him with a phone that wasn't secure.<p>

"Blaine," he called out, pushing through the front door with more than a few bags hanging from his arms. Sebastian knew he should have been the one to pack up his shit, he would've been carting less crap around. Blaine was staying for a week, not a damn month.

He emerged from the bedroom wearing one of Sebastian's shirts and a pair of basketball shorts, and he couldn't hide the smile that slowly spread across his face. "How long have you been gone?" Blaine cradled a cup of coffee in his hands, leaning against the arm of the sofa.

"I left around six," he told him, pulling a smaller bag out of one of the duffle bags. "Here's your new phone. I'm trusting you not to contact anyone but your family and boyfriend, and don't think about logging onto any social media account."

"Got it, master." He could've sworn Blaine eyes were going to roll out of his head any moment now. "You look awful, just so you know. You might want to consider sleeping."

He had more than a few smart ass comments ready to roll right off of his tongue, but he didn't quite have the energy to keep up a conversation at the time. "Mm," Sebastian hummed, shucking off the layer of clothes he'd thrown on top of whatever he slept in earlier the moment he entered his room. The door was left wide open, because he was sure Blaine would want to use the television. "Wake me up if you need anything," he added and took the spot that hadn't been touched by Blaine, which wasn't his usual side of the bed. It didn't matter at this point, because he could fall asleep on a damn bed of nails right now.

"I'll be here," Blaine mumbled as he sat next to him. "Obeying your rules."

Sebastian snorted softly, looking at Blaine through one eye. "Good boy." It had been muffled by the pillow, but Blaine still heard it.


End file.
